We at Gawker have warned you previously that the New York Times Style section exists solely to introduce you to society's biggest shitheads, and yesterday's profile of the Brant Brothers is no exception. At this point, it feels as if the Times is going out of its way to troll us all. No one at that paper could possibly think these two teenagers—who have yet to contribute anything meaningful to society—are inherently interesting. A much more reasonable explanation is that someone at the Times Style section sits down every week and is like, "Oh hey, how can we piss off everyone this week? I KNOW! Let's profile a pair of privileged dipshits!" Look at this fucking article:

Hating the New York Times Style section is a grand tradition. But what is it exactly that makes…
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Harry, 15, and his 18-year-old brother are the well-spoken product of cross-pollination of the Übermenschen.

I want to take this sentence, drag it out into the backyard, and beat it to death with a shovel. That sentence alone justifies every single conservative criticism that the Times exists with its head perpetually up its own ass. These two kids are the product of rich people. No pollination was involved. Terms like "Übermenschen" exist strictly so that pretentious assholes will use them to no effect.

"Everybody loves celebrity children," said Stephanie Trong, the editorial director of The Cut.

No, they don't. That's wrong. Just last week, I prayed to Jesus that Jaden and Willow Smith would each get hit by a milk truck. No one loves celebrity children. Even Tom Hanks couldn't be stopped from siring obnoxious offspring. What fucking galaxy did this lady emerge from?

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"But perhaps the biggest appeal is that these guys live in the lap of luxury and they're extremely open about their exploits."

There's nothing appealing about that. Everyone loves celebrity children, and you know what? They REALLY love it when those celebrity children live a repulsively decadent lifestyle and won't shut the fuck up about it. Americans can't get enough of that. It's an Übermenschen thing. You wouldn't understand.

"How many teens go to couture shows or fashion parties, much less document them on their joint Twitter feed, in such a hilarious, uncensored way?"

It's true. Thank God that we have stumbled upon that rarest of breeds: a privileged set of teenagers tweeting about all the fabulous parties they get to go to that you don't. I can't possibly see how the world would react aversely to such a thing.

Now THAT is cross-pollination. Aren't they adorable? Don't you just wanna take them home and douse them in gasoline and watch them BURN until the black flesh is peeling from their skulls?

For a teenager, Peter Brant can sound like a been-there-done-that dowager countess, not that his Old World pretensions aren't refreshing in the Internet age.

No. No no fucking no. They aren't refreshing. A rich teenage hipster with Old World pretensions isn't refreshing. In fact, there are entire Tumblr feeds dedicated to eradicating that particular species from the universe.

"I'm interested in 18th-century furniture, late-19th-century art, the Arts and Crafts movement and history of the mid- to late-19th century," he said. "I bounce around a lot, but I usually stick with the same three centuries."

Those are two centuries.

Harry has similarly lofty passions. "I become obsessed with things like DNA or old Valentino shows or the Qing dynasty," he said. "I have a love of opulence."

/vomits on nearby celebrity child

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? Why would the New York Times, an entity that positions itself as a paper that reports on important shit, tell us about these fuckfaces? Does it enrich your life in ANY way to know that one of these kids is tweeting about how awesome Joan Crawford is at four in the morning? Who is this article for? It feels like a fucking paid advertisement.

The brothers, who live with their family in Greenwich, Conn...

Of course.

...seem well on their way to transitioning from Internet to general fame — all for just being ... well, fabulous. They are the perfect harbingers of the "It boy,"

And let us hold a silent vigil now for the concept of the American Boy. It died yesterday, June 2012, crushed under the weight of a lovely 18th century armoire.

It could be said that the Brants have taken the torch from the Hilton sisters, that they are the next generation of to-the-manner-born siblings in the public eye.

And there's nothing more charming than a teenager dropping the names of writers he almost certainly hasn't read. Paris Hilton is nothing more than a tacky European man.

In a pop-culture landscape that has been populated by heir heads... the Brants could certainly elevate the medium.

No, they can't.

But don't expect the boys to be reality fodder in the near future.

Notice how this is phrased as something tragic. Oh no! They could have elevated the entire celebreality medium with their love of Troop Beverly Hills, but they've deprived us all! WHATEVER WILL WE DO?!

Mr. Brant is baffled by the public's growing obsession with his sons. "I have no idea," he said.

What growing obsession? I don't see any growing obsession here, apart from my growing obsession to see the Times' Mexican sugar daddy run out of money and watch the paper finally sink into fucking oblivion. The Style section pulls this kind of shit all the time. People are obsessed with the Brants! The home butter churning movement is gaining strength! Floppy disks are waging a minor comeback among the Williamsburg elite! SHOW ME SOME EVIDENCE.

The writer-about-town Derek Blasberg, who has taken the brothers under his wing, can often be spotted with them.

Please note that anyone who refers to themselves as a "writer-about-town" should never be quoted about anything, ever. Here is a description of Blasberg's book: "Classy":

If you've ever wondered how to climb the social ladder with grace, how to feel confident in every situation, or even how to make a lasting impression (but not the kind that lands you on the latest "Worst Dressed List")-Derek Blasberg is here, with quotes and secrets from all the socialites so girls everywhere can learn how to have class.

Well now, if you're gonna have a writer-about-town take you under his wing, it's that guy. I bet he infiltrates rich families pretending to be the son of Sidney Poitier.

"I've had a summer job since I was 9," Harry said. "At our house we have stables, so I'd work in the barn. We had to clean the stalls."

That's not a job! That's your fucking Dad's barn! Doing chores is just doing chores! I hope your prize Arabian took a dump on you.

Plans for their careers are up in the air. Harry knows that he wants to work in some sort of creative field, and Peter is leaning toward luxury goods, but isn't sure.

And there you have it. Two rich teenagers are unsure of what to do with their lives. NEWS AT FUCKING ELEVEN. I don't blame the Brants for being privileged youths. That's all well and good. All teenagers are inherently annoying. No no, I fault whatever fartsniffer at the Times style section found these two to be a cross-pollination of the Uberdouche or whatever the fuck. The Times is disgusting.